


What I Wouldn't Do

by carolion



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 13:43:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolion/pseuds/carolion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People had met in far stranger circumstances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What I Wouldn't Do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [duckgirlie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/duckgirlie/gifts).



David hadn’t realized, at first, when the little Scottish terrier at the park started to terrorize Chloe, and like, chased her into his lap and wouldn’t stop yipping, his tail wagging furiously, and his owner had run up, breathless and apologetic, and smiled so big and friendly, and made David laugh, and asked for his phone number -- he hadn’t realized that Cook was _hitting_ on him then. They had laughed after exchanging names, and David told Cook they’d just have to call each other by their last names, to avoid confusion, and programmed his number into Cook’s phone as ‘Archuleta, David.’ Cook’s number in his phone simply read ‘Cook.’ After that it was so easy to agree to getting a coffee later (even though, um, David didn’t really drink coffee, but he was pretty sure coffee shops sold other things?) and like, maybe let Chloe an Dublin have a ‘doggy date’ (totally Cook’s words) or just hang out together. Maybe it was a little strange, but people met in really weird circumstances all the time, and in the grand scheme of things, meeting someone at a dog park was not the weirdest way to make a friend.

It wasn’t - Cook was _nice_ , and funny, and he understood music, like David did. He was smart and, okay, _handsome_ , and David felt like he deserved to hang out with someone who wasn’t a coworker or like, ten.

Not that he didn’t love his job. Just - it was a lot of work, teaching fifth grade, and his social life was kind of, well, nonexistent. It had been a relief to talk to someone about _grown up_ topics rather than about why it wasn’t okay to hit a girl even if she _was_ being a total smarty-pants.

Anyway he was just really happy to have Cook as a friend because they, they clicked. (And it didn’t matter if he, whatever, thought Cook was attractive or not because he wasn’t looking for a relationship. He was only twenty three, and Cook wasn’t - it didn’t matter, what they had was - nice. Comfortable.)

\--

“Hey Archie,” Cook had come up with this really silly nickname for him like, three days after they met, and insisted on using it all the time. Worse, David was _getting used_ to it. “Wanna grab dinner later this week? Thursday? Or Friday?”

Cook usually worked late Saturdays and Sundays, bar tending. He called it his ‘blue collar job,’ and jokingly referred to his weekday job as a minor graphic design consultant as his ‘fancy pants job.’ (“I have to wear a _suit_ ,” he’d complained to David, and motioned to his throat when David had just stared, lips pursed in disapproval. “It’s constricting!”) Unfortunately this meant their schedules clashed, since David’s job left his weekends open, but his weekdays full. Cook had invited David to swing by the bars he worked at during his hours but - yeah, _no_. They managed to work it out most of the time though, and it’s not like they hung out _all_ the time. Just, um, more and more as time went on.

Not this time though.

“Oh, no, I can’t,” David said into the phone, cradling it between his head and shoulder, his neck craned awkwardly. Spread out in front of him were thirty eight or so bound notebooks, (hopefully) filled with completed journal assignments from his students. “I have this parent-teacher conference thing on Friday, and I have to spend the week getting the room ready and decorated and _organized_...”

He trailed off, a little wad of panic lodging itself in his throat. This was his first real year as a teacher like, on his own, not under supervision or as a part of a learning course. He wanted to be a _good_ teacher, he wanted to actually connect with the kids and be helpful to the parents and make it fun and interesting and not, not like how he remembered school. But even though he had expected the workload, it was so much more emotionally draining than he could have imagined. It was _upsetting_ when one of his students was struggling - but hopefully this parent-teacher conference would help smooth out a lot of those troubles.

“It’s cool,” Cook said. David could hear him shutting a cupboard and thought he could hear the sound of Dublin’s claws scrabbling on the tiled floor of Cook’s kitchen. “Did you need help? With, whatever, putting up posters? I’m pretty good at that.”

David smiled at Cook’s laugh, dropping his pen and flexing his hand free of cramps. “It’ll be boring,” he warned, “just me pulling my hair out and yelling at you to straighten the posters out.”

“You? Yell?” Cook teased.

“Hey, it’s been known to happen,” David said. Which, okay, he technically had never yelled at his students (not yet, anyway; it wasn’t even Christmas break yet!) but he _could_ yell, if he wanted to.

Cook chuckled. “Right. I’ll believe it when I see it. So, I’ll swing by the school after three tomorrow?”

\--

“So, has he asked you out yet?” Brooke smiled brightly at him from behind the teacher’s lounge microwave, her elbows propped on top of it. David frowned at her, brows knit in confusion before glancing back at the timer counting down until his soup would be done.

“Has who asked me out?” He asked, distracted. Brooke was always trying to set him up with guys since he was, in her words, a big chicken when it came to dating.

“Tall, dark and handsome, duh,” she said, rolling her eyes. “The dog park guy? ‘Other David?’ The guy you can’t seem to shut up about?”

David flushed, glaring at Brooke as the microwave beeped. He grabbed his soup and hustled away from her, but it was hopeless; she followed eagerly.

“Cook’s not -” he started when she sat across the table from him, and then took a breath. “We’re just friends, Brooke. There’s nothing going on.” And that was the truth.

“Right. Honey, I’ve seen him here, at the school, late at night. Helping you in the classroom or waiting around to take you to dinner. And I’ve seen your face when you talk about him.” Her smile was gentle, and she reached out to squeeze his hand reassuringly.

He didn’t really talk about Cook that much, did he? And - well, okay, David was willing to admit he maybe had sort of crush on his friend. He felt _awful_ , like he was taking advantage of Cook, and how pathetic was it that the one nice person he’d met and managed to befriend had to go and be the one person he was most attracted to? And it wasn’t just Cook’s wide, friendly smile, or his weirdly sexy mussed hair, or his strong thighs, or lush mouth, but it was _everything_. The way he talked to Dublin and Chloe like they were people, and how he would forward his brother’s ridiculous texts to David, and his warm, soothing voice, and how he would bring dinner to David sometimes, if grades were due and he was too busy to cook for himself.  
He shrugged a little, but smiled back. “It doesn’t matter. We’re just friends Brooke,” he repeated firmly, and she wisely let the subject drop.

\--

“You’re going to come see us perform, right?” Cook asked, his face the perfect picture of hope. “You have to. You _have_ to, Archie.”

David sighed, tucking his chin further below his scarf and tugged at Chloe’s leash when she started to dawdle. Winter break was fast approaching and the kids were driving him absolutely insane. They were excited for the holidays, and for the break from school, but David’s life didn’t get any easier. There were still projects due and tests to give out, and his patience was wearing thin. Truthfully, he’d be glad for the break too, even though he’d be working hard to get the semester grades calculated and submitted, and begin prep for the next semester.

“I don’t know Cook,” he said doubtfully. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go see Cook play with his band - he really, _really_ did. It was just - he was tired, and busy, and cranky, and it was so cold, and he didn’t even _like_ bars or the people who frequented them. (Though, to be fair, he liked Cook and _Cook_ frequented bars. So.)

Cook leaned towards him and bumped his shoulder gently as they walked together, their dogs weaving back and forth in front of them, their noses sniffing the frozen ground with interest.

“C’mon Arch, please? I promise it won’t be that bad. You don’t have to drink, or even talk to anyone, and you can leave right after our set. And you can bring friends!”

David looked up at his friend, and had to bite his lip to keep from grinning. Cook’s cheeks were a bright, rosy red, and his lips looked chapped. His breath puffed out in clouds of misty white. Cook stared back, his mouth curved into a smile, his eyes soft and patient. It was hard to look away, but eventually he did, winding his fingers around Chloe’s leash more tightly.

He reeled her in a little and squatted to pat the Cocker Spaniel, running his cold fingers through her damp coat as Cook waited patiently by his side. Finally he sighed and stood up.

“Okay. I’ll go. Just for you,” he couldn’t help but smile widely, his eyes crinkling at the corners as Cook whooped and jumped in the air, causing Dublin to bark in surprise and run around his owner in confusion and excitement.

\--

The bar was crowded and warm, but at least it wasn’t as grungy as David had imagined. He blushed a little, embarrassed that he had pictured some derelict place of sin and alcoholism as Cook’s weekend work place, when in fact it was just a mellow little club, with worn but nice furniture, and a low stage and dim lighting. It was clean, and it didn’t reek of cigarettes, and nobody looked _that_ scary. (There were no huge biker guys dressed in leather, he meant, but then felt bad because he really shouldn’t judge someone on their appearance.)

Still, he tried to stay close to Brooke, who was drifting near the stage, slipping between people gracefully until they were crammed in front right by where Cook would perform. With his band.

It was really exciting actually, and David could feel his heart already start beating faster. He hadn’t been to a concert in a long time, since Spring Break of sophomore year of college. He missed the atmosphere, the low curl in his stomach that fizzed and sparked, the anticipation and the hope that it would be good and he’d enjoy it, and the press of dozens of people, all craving the same thing.

“Why am I nervous?” he asked Brooke, rubbing his fingers along his palms anxiously, “I shouldn’t be nervous.”

“Just relax,” she said, briefly flashing him a bright grin before turning her attention to the stage. The lights were dimmed even further, but David could see Cook and a few other guys mingling backstage. The drummer came on first, waved to audience who cheered momentarily. Then one guitarist, a dark haired man and then the bassist, and then another guitarist, and they all stood there, fiddling with their instruments and grinning at the crowd, who hooted and hollered. It seemed like forever until Cook stepped onto the stage.

David held his breath.

\--

David had heard Cook sing before, and was floored. But he’d never heard him sing like _this_ , with a full backing band and songs he’d written himself, and throwing himself into it, and winking at the crowd, throwing out picks, leaning against his guitarists’ shoulders and mouthing the words into their necks.

He was beautiful up there on stage, sweat soaking his hair and his eyes bright and laughing and alive. David stared, unable to stop grinning, and Brooke clutched at his arm, her own smile bright and joyful. It was amazing to watch. They were amazing and Cook belonged there, a frontman, a musician. David’s stomach swooped unexpectedly. It was - whatever attraction he had for Cook, it had gone beyond a crush now. Maybe it had gone beyond a crush a long time ago. It made his head spin, but he couldn’t pull out of the moment to contemplate it, just let his fingers twine with Brooke’s and held on tight, looking for some kind of comfort as Cook sang his heart out.

“Alright, how would you guys like to hear a cover?” Cook gestured to the audience between songs, searching the crowd with his eyes and cupping a hand over his ear. They cheered loudly, and the sound filled the club. He laughed, his head tipped back. “Let’s see if you can guess this one,” he teased, and nodded to the band.

They launched into a hard, fast paced song that David didn’t recognize right away - but apparently a lot of the crowd did. They practically _howled_.

“This song,” Cook said over the guitars, his face lit up with mischief, “this song is for a couple of special guests in the crowd tonight.” His eyes searched the crowd, before snapping to David’s face. He smiled, strangely soft and fond, before whipping around and shouting out a note.

And then he started singing. Brooke yelped and nearly squeezed his hand off - he could hear her squealing faintly, but he could only focus on Cook, leaning up against the microphone his hands sliding up and down, his mouth pressed obscenely against it as he sang _”T-T-teacher stop that screamin'/Teacher don't you see?”_ and the bottom fell out of his stomach. Suddenly his vision was swimming a little and his body felt too hot and he wasn’t sure if he felt sick from embarrassment or from the way Cook’s voice sounded on those notes.

 _”I’m hot for teacher,”_ Cook sang, and opened his eyes to stare at David, and this time it wasn’t soft or fond, it was blazing and his pupils were blown and everyone was screaming but David couldn’t look away.

 _”Oh yes I’m hot! You know I’m hot!”_ rang in David’s ears and it was stuffy and the crowd was going nuts and he couldn’t, he just couldn’t handle this. Not when Cook was moaning like that on stage, not when he realized - and this was torture, staying here like this.

“I have to-” he told Brooke, his eyes wide and round, and didn’t even bother to finish his sentence, just bolted from her side and out one of the backdoors, spilling into the cold night.

His skin immediately stung in the below freezing weather, his light jacket no match for the sharp winds. He shivered, though his insides still felt burning hot, and shut his eyes, trying to wrap his head around the night. Why would Cook sing that song? Why would he sing _that_ song? Did it mean anything? Was he just teasing? Did he _realize_ David had a crush on him? (More than a crush - dang it.)

He shook his head - it was just a stupid song. It was just - just playful.

The backdoor banged open and David jumped, his eyes flying open. Cook stood there staring at him, his chest heaving, steam rising off of his hot body. David stared back for a long moment, and then noticed Cook was wearing what he wore on stage - a short sleeved shirt and ripped up jeans.

“Oh my gosh, you’re going to catch a cold!” He accused and hurried forward, his hands automatically wrapping around Cook’s biceps, which were still hot from the stage, still -

Cook grabbed him back, hands cupping his elbows and pushed his body back a few steps.

“Archie-” he started. His face was open, intense and dark and earnest all at the same time. He looked - he looked nervous. “Archie I-”

“Shouldn’t you be on stage?” David interrupted, looking away from Cook’s flushed face. “You didn’t just run off on them did you?”

“No that was, that was the last song,” Cook answered automatically, but he wouldn’t be distracted. “Archie, please, I- I didn’t mean to...”

“It was just a little warm in there.” David smiled at him reassuringly - or what he hoped was reassuring. “You were, gosh, Cook, you were awesome. Your band, you, everything. It was - amazing.”

Cook’s eyes stayed locked with his for a long moment, and then his gaze drifted down David’s face. He caught his breath, his heart beating a little faster in his chest as Cook’s gaze lingered on his lips. He licked them nervously, and heard Cook’s sharp inhalation.  
“David,” Cook murmured, and then leaned down and pressed his mouth to David’s, one hand sliding up David’s back to cradle his neck gently.

He stiffened in shock, his heart in his throat, Cook’s cold fingers on his waist, sliding into his hair, before finally he kissed back, parting his lips and opening up to Cook’s warmth.

“What- Cook?” He asked against Cook’s mouth. Cook rubbed his cheek against David’s, which tickled, and David could feel his smile.

“You had no idea, the whole time,” he murmured softly. He sounded drowsy. “I wanted to kiss Dublin for chasing Chloe straight to you, seriously. I thought I was being so obvious,” he paused to kiss David again, his arms wrapping around him when he shivered. “But you were oblivious.”

David flushed, embarrassed. “This whole time?” he asked incredulously, staring into Cook’s amused eyes.

“This whole time.” Cook answered, and then kissed him fiercely, and David wasn’t cold at all, not at all, not even a little.


End file.
